by Julie Hyzy
“Who lives here with you?” the FBI man asked.
“Why?” It was one thing to answer questions about myself. Quite another to share information about my roommates. Bruce and Scott, two men I loved like brothers, were currently hard at work at their wine shop, Amethyst Cellars. They had nothing to do with Bennett. Nothing to do with Liza. For what other reasons could the Feds be interested in me?
“Just answer the question.”
“I need to know what this is about, first.”
Alvin Clark stretched his chin forward, running stub-nailed fingers down the front of his neck. “I suggest you cooperate, Ms. Wheaton. This will go much easier for you if you do.”
Bootsie struggled in my arms. I let her bound to the floor and was pleased when she meandered away, having lost interest in the drama at the front door. The ever-so-slight interruption allowed me to summon my resolve.
“First of all,” I began, “you haven’t told me what this is about. I’d be more inclined to cooperate if I understood why you’re here.”
“Ms. Wheaton—” His voice was a growl.
I talked right over him. “As I already stated, I have an appointment this morning.” At that moment I spotted Tooney coming up the walk, his tattered wool coat flapping open in the wind. He was clearly taken aback by the sight of the man on my porch.
He locked eyes with me from behind the FBI guy, taking the steps two at a time to position himself close to the door. “What’s going on?”
Alvin Clark was momentarily rattled. He took a step backward and gave Tooney an appraising glance. “Do you live here?”
Tooney straightened his rumpled self as tall as he could and returned the scrutiny. Ignoring the Fed’s question, he asked, “What do you need me to do, Grace?”
“This gentleman is from the FBI,” I said. “He hasn’t told me why he’s here, but I made it clear that I’m running late for an appointment.” I forced a smile at the agent. “If you’ll excuse us?”
Clark’s gaze shifted from me to Tooney, then back again. “This won’t take long. Just a few important questions.”
I debated handling this agent the same way I had Aunt Belinda. Answering him now would get this over with. But Bennett was waiting, and today was an important day.
“Unless you have some sort of warrant or paperwork that requires me to answer your questions now,” I said, “you’ll have to come back another time.”
The fact that the FBI guy didn’t produce any such documentation provided a small sense of comfort.
His lips curled in hard disapproval as he shoved the notebook into his pocket. “When will you be back?”
“I can’t say exactly.”
“After five o’clock?”
“Probably.”
“And if you are not home then?” he asked, taking a deep, irritated sniff. “What about tomorrow?”
I didn’t appreciate being put on the spot, but I knew that the quicker I cooperated, the faster he’d be out of here. “I should be home all day tomorrow.”
“Fine.” He pivoted and strode away.
“What was that all about?” Tooney asked when he was gone.
“You got me.” I shook my shoulders to release the tension in them.
“You want me to be here when he comes back tonight?”
“Maybe,” I said. “Let’s talk about it on the way. The FBI guy’s visit put us behind schedule.”
Chapter 2
I could have driven myself to the lab this morning, but Bennett had insisted on an escort. Afraid that I might be light-headed from the blood draw, he asked me to indulge him by allowing Tooney to drive.
When I’d first agreed to the DNA test, I’d expected Bennett would invite his personal physician to come into the office, swab our cheeks, and then—weeks later—return with results. Bennett had other ideas. We would get our cheeks swabbed today for sure, but we’d also submit blood samples. I’d tried to reason with him, reminding him that swabs were enough, but Bennett could be obstinate. “I want more information,” he’d said. “Not less. I don’t plan to repeat this procedure, so let’s get it done right.”
Once I’d agreed, we’d settled on the first Saturday we both had free. Today.
Tooney usually drove a rattletrap sedan that boasted more dents than an aluminum shed after a hailstorm, but today he’d arrived in a shiny Buick Enclave. There wasn’t a hint of snow on its shadow-gray exterior and it sported temporary license plates.
Tooney gallantly handed me into the passenger seat before closing my door and making his way around to settle behind the wheel.
“New car?” I asked.
He started the vehicle and put it into gear, his cheeks flushing pink as he shot me a quick glance. “Mr. Marshfield has been very generous with me, ever since . . . I mean . . .” Pulling away, his face now glowed scarlet. “First the house, and now a car . . .”
In an effort to better Tooney’s standard of living, Bennett had snatched up the painted lady next to mine the moment it went on the market. On paper Bennett retained ownership of the property, but he had essentially handed the house to Tooney after hearing about the hovel our scruffy private investigator called home. Bennett had also arranged to have the place updated and renovated, despite the fact that it was in good shape to begin with. Hillary was in charge of that project.
“Mr. Marshfield doesn’t need to do all this,” Tooney went on. “He doesn’t have to give me anything. I wasn’t looking for a reward when . . .”
I reached across to lay a hand on his arm. “You saved my life,” I said. “Bennett wants to show his appreciation.”
“But you saved his life,” he said.
“That was quite a busy evening, wasn’t it?” I pulled my hand back as I recalled that memorable night from the previous summer.
“I don’t deserve anything. He should be grateful to you.”
“He thinks of you as my guardian angel. He believes I get into too much trouble.”
Tooney’s soft face twisted into a smile. “Can’t argue with him there.”
“I think he rests better at night knowing you’re right next door.”
“I sleep easier, too.”
I patted his arm again. “That makes three of us.”
When Bennett had arranged to have my home renovated, he’d insisted on having a burglar alarm installed. It was a reasonable suggestion and I didn’t argue. At least not until Bennett’s scope expanded. In light of the discovery of an underground tunnel that connected my home with what was now Tooney’s, and after the catastrophic events that sent my former neighbor packing, Bennett had demanded that a second, backup, alarm be established.
The backup—on a separate circuit—would sound at Tooney’s house. If he was home and the alarm went off, Tooney knew to text me immediately. If I didn’t answer with the code word—Bootsie—he would know I was in trouble and he’d use the underground passage to get to me as quickly as possible.
I’d cajoled Bennett, bickered with him, and had argued at length that we shouldn’t drag Tooney into a potentially dangerous situation without backup. It wasn’t fair to ask him to come running blindly to my rescue.
Bennett had listened to my pleas and had ultimately agreed that I was right—it was unfair to require such a commitment from one of Marshfield’s employees. My relief at Bennett’s acquiescence had been short-lived, however, when he’d added, “We ought not to force Mr. Tooney to cooperate. But we can ask him if he’s willing.” Bennett’s smile had been smug. “What do you suppose he’ll say?”
Thus, both alarms were installed. I had to admit that after having lived through a number of harrowing experiences these past few years, knowing that help was right next door reassured me a great deal.
* * *
We were about five minutes late getting to Lucatorto Labs. The moment we parked I alighted from the car
and hurried through the biting wind to the establishment’s glass door, grabbing its handle a fraction of a second before Tooney gallantly pulled it open for me. Two steps in, I stopped. I’d expected a generic medical testing center: mass-produced artwork on pastel walls, piles of health-centric reading material, and air thick with stinging disinfectant.
With its cushy chairs, soft lighting, and slow-tempo Bach, however, Lucatorto Labs more closely resembled an upscale spa. Walls were a warm brown accented by icy aqua and white trim. At the room’s center was a trickling stone waterfall, providing both soothing sounds and the faintest whiff of chlorine.
To my left, cushy window seats overlooked a snowy courtyard. To my right and ahead, a group of business-clad individuals stood in small clusters, talking softly, sipping from ceramic mugs. All were attorneys from Hertel and Niebuhr, the firm that had handled Marshfield affairs for as long as the family had lived in Emberstowne.
A statuesque woman in natty professional attire stepped forward. I recognized her as one of the senior partners at the law firm. I’d spoken with her once, but only briefly. “Nice to see you again, Ms. Wheaton,” she said, extending her hand. “As you can see, my colleagues and I are all very excited to be here for you and Mr. Marshfield today. Come on in.”
“Good to see you too, Ms. Inglethorpe” I said to her, “but please, call me Grace.”
“Of course. And I’m Maggie.” She directed one young man to take my coat and another to escort Tooney to the window seats. “Joe will see to your comfort, Mr. Tooney.” Indicating a table across the room, she added, “Lucatorto Labs has been wonderful about allowing us to commandeer the premises for the day. We have coffee, tea, and pastries set out. Help yourself. If you need anything else—some reading material, perhaps?—please don’t hesitate to ask.”
Cheeks pink from either the cold or the attention, Tooney handed his coat to Joe and mumbled that he was fine.
Returning her attention to me, Maggie offered a warm smile and led me toward the gathered group. “We’re very eager to get this process started.”
“Where’s Bennett?” I asked. There were far more people here than I’d expected. The lab was open only to us today, and even though I’d known Bennett’s lawyers would be present, I hadn’t anticipated such a crowd.
“He’s definitely here,” she said.
I caught sight of him the same moment he spotted me. Bennett, with his electric blue eyes, athletic build, and full head of brilliant white hair, put other septuagenarians to shame.
“You made it, Gracie,” he said, pulling me into a hug. “Knowing how punctual you are, when you weren’t here precisely at eleven I feared you’d changed your mind.”
Despite the fact that I shared Bennett’s confidence that he and I were, indeed, related by blood, I’d always harbored misgivings about obtaining proof. I didn’t believe it necessary. Not to me, at least. I would have been perfectly content to maintain the status quo. Test or no test, Bennett would always be more to me than an employer; he was a beloved uncle. Half-uncle, if you wanted to get technical.
Bennett, however, wanted ironclad evidence and had insisted on today’s gathering in order to cover every legal, moral, and ethical base he could come up with. Such formalities were important to him. From the first moment we learned of our possible connection he’d made no secret of how happy the prospect made him. I hoped he understood how much joy this relationship brought to me as well. For the first time since my mother passed away I had family. Bennett loved me and cared for me as much as I did him.
“I wouldn’t miss this for the world,” I said.
The group of lawyers, witnesses, and what have you opened their circle to allow me in. One of the senior partners, Ted Hertel, grasped my hand in both of his. “Wonderful to see you again, Grace. Today is a big day. We’re thrilled to be part of it.”
“Thank you,” I said, feeling a little overwhelmed. The fact that conversation had ceased the moment I’d joined them set me on edge. “Sorry I’m late. I had an unexpected visitor at my front door right as I was leaving.”
“Visitor?” Bennett asked, picking up on the disquiet in my tone. “Who was it?”
With the exception of the assistants who kept to the sidelines, the people gathered here today were all middle-aged or older. Every one of them dignified, polished. There were men and women in different shapes, sizes, and colors, but they all bore intelligent, curious expressions as they waited for me to answer. Even though I wore a perfectly presentable sweater and skirt ensemble I felt young, underdressed, and out of place.
I tucked my hair behind one ear. “A gentleman from the FBI, believe it or not,” I said with a little cough-laugh.
If I’d suddenly pulled out flaming sticks and begun juggling them, the lawyers couldn’t have expressed more surprise. The group—almost as one—reacted with arched-brow, openmouthed expressions of concern.
“What did he want?” Ted asked.
“I don’t know, exactly. I told him I had an appointment and didn’t have time to answer his questions.”
Bennett’s brow had tightened, so I hastened to add, “I’m sure it’s nothing important. He let me go.” Another little laugh. “It’s not like he had a warrant for my arrest or anything.”
Whoops. Mustn’t joke with lawyers, I thought, as the attorneys exchanged uneasy glances and began discussing this among themselves. One of them turned sideways and spoke softly to Ted, though loudly enough for me to hear. “Could this be related at all to today’s tests? Should we delay until we have answers?”
“We aren’t delaying another moment,” Bennett said over the din. Turning to me, he asked, “Gracie, what did he say?”
My discomfort level was high, but I didn’t hesitate. “He knew my name, but wanted to know who lived in the house with me. I didn’t tell him anything.”
“Did he show you identification?” Maggie asked.
“Yes, right away.”
The lawyers were apparently aware of Bruce’s and Scott’s presence in my life, because this new piece of information got them chatting again, this time musing about my roommates and their business interests.
Wishing I’d never opened my mouth, I said, “I’m sure it’s nothing. Otherwise, why would he be willing to come back later?”
Bennett still wore an anxious expression. “When will that be?”
“He asked if I’d be home after five.”
Maggie spoke up. “If you like, Bennett, I’ll be there with Grace when the agent returns.” She sent a pointed look around the rest of the assembled group. “Let’s not get worked up about this. For all we know one of Grace’s neighbors may be under suspicion for illegal activity.” To me, she asked, “Would you mind my involvement?”
“Not at all,” I said. “That’s very generous of you.”
“My pleasure. Five o’clock then?” She pulled out her phone and began tapping notes into it.
“I’m not even certain he’ll return tonight. He asked about tomorrow, too.”
She nodded, as though this was of no consequence. I appreciated her direct, businesslike attitude. “Here,” she said, handing me her business card. She’d written her cell phone number on the back. “Call me when he shows. I’m not that far from you; I can be there in ten minutes. Don’t answer a single question until I get there.”
“Thank you,” I said.
She nodded. “Shall we get started, then?”
Chapter 3
Two technicians led us through mahogany-paneled doors into the functional area of the building, where glaring fluorescent fixtures illuminated shiny white and blue walls. Our shoes snapped against the navy tile floor and the smell of Pine-Sol was so intense I would have bet that the maintenance folks had finished swabbing only moments earlier.
Bennett and I followed directly behind the two techs, and I wasn’t surprised when the rest of the entourage crowded i
n after us. We trooped past tiny examination rooms on either side of the quiet hallway, taking several maze-like turns until we arrived in what appeared to be the heart of the place.
The white-and-blue theme carried into what had to be the main lab. Stainless steel fixtures lined the perimeter and two islands sat at the expansive room’s center. Chilly and clean yet cluttered, the space was chock-full of microscopes, refrigeration units, computers, what looked like incubators, and machines I couldn’t begin to identify. An emergency shower and drain took up one corner.
Two men and one woman in lab coats stepped forward to greet us.
The older of the two men took point position. He wore heavy-framed glasses and a magnifier/lamp contraption perched atop his bald head. “I’m Dr. Lucatorto,” he said before introducing his colleagues. Indicating the smiling, dark-skinned man behind him, he said, “My partner, Dr. Rabbat.” He shifted to point toward the woman. “And, per your request to have a second laboratory process your specimens, this is Dr. Lyon, from Sarear Labs.”
Bennett and I shook hands with all three of them. Dr. Lucatorto sent an appraising glance over the others. “These measures are a bit excessive,” he began, “but as I’ve assured your counsel, Mr. Marshfield, Lucatorto Labs is AABB accredited. As is Sarear Laboratory.” Waving a benediction over the passel of lawyers gathered behind us, he added, “While we appreciate your generous compensation for our time, I can promise that there is no need for this level of involvement.”
Bennett’s expression was mild. “Perhaps not,” he said. “But I make it a habit to over prepare rather than be caught short.”
Dr. Lucatorto used a knuckle to tap his glasses higher up his nose, as though to convey that it made no difference. “Well then,” he said, “shall we begin?”
The two techs who had led us in, Wanda and Valerie, turned out to be phlebotomists, one from each of the two labs. After Bennett and I were seated in identical swing-out armchairs across from each other, Valerie began to prep my arm as Wanda ministered to Bennett.
